


Morning Glory

by Suchthingbutnever



Series: Ziam fuckathon [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Morning Sex, PWP, Porn, Smut, glory - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 22:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suchthingbutnever/pseuds/Suchthingbutnever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn knows that it’s a great deal of trouble to wake him up in the mornings… or, as a matter of fact, at all times. Liam's the only one to do the job effectively. (Sex!Marathon, Multiple Orgasms, shameless PWP)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Glory

Zayn knows that it’s a great deal of trouble to wake him up in the mornings… or, as a matter of fact, at all times.

 

It’s just so easy to fall asleep and stay in that muddled sort of consciousness, not caring whether there’s someone jumping up and down beside him on the mattress, or singing obnoxiously loud, pulling on guitar strings right next to his ear.

 

What people don’t know is, that he does like to gradually wake up to the faint smell of coffee, or Liam humming softly to himself in the bathroom, the stroke of a gentle hand across his forehead.

To be completely honest, he downright loves being woken up by Liam, as long as it’s private, quiet and slow. That’s something he keeps to himself, though, because the thoughts are sort of gooey and feminine, and he’ll be seen like some kind of silly fourteen-year-old drooling – and really, there’s nothing Zayn despises more than the thought that Liam might stop taking him seriously.

 

But this particular morning, it’s neither coffee nor soft touches that wake him up, but a loud voice with a more than noticeable Irish accent and a hearty yank that deprives him of the fluffy warmth of his blanket.

Zayn gives an agonized groan and tugs his pillow over his face to avoid the blinding daylight – of course he was fucking rooming with Niall Horan, who didn’t know a darn about the subtle art of rousing someone from their well-deserved, far too short slumber. Zayn sighs inwardly and keeps his eyes shut – he’s good at this, within minutes he’ll be tight asleep again.

 

“Malik, get up! Move your lazy arse, you bugger!”

 

Zayn just ignores the offensively loud voice and pictures a blurry, soft-looking image. His mind subconsciously adds soft rays of sunlight and a fold of soft bed cloth, a few locks of messy brown hair… He’s already drifting back to sleep, it’s just so easy. Even the slam of the door is sort of dull and far away, like he’s wrapped in cotton.

 

He can hear Liam’s voice – but that’s nothing too unusual. At these blurry stages he often sees random images, hears voices of his band mates arbitrarily repeating of sentence they’ve spoken during the day. And Liam – Liam’s sort of the most comforting of them all. The way he’s so steady, calm, the way a flick of his eyes can compose a great deal of Zayn’s anxieties, and he’s got more than enough of those.

 

Liam’s touch can make blood rush to his cheeks in a matter of seconds; make him do things that he secretly finds embarrassing afterwards. But he shouldn’t think about that too intensely, the thoughts keep him from sleep.

 

A deep chuckle vibrates through the emptiness, dulled at the edges, and Zayn frowns. “Niall’s right, you really aren’t keen on getting up today.”

A hand strokes down Zayn’s shoulder, and he slowly drags his lids open, blinks a few times. “Morning, sleepy head.”

And the dip of the mattress, the warm hand on the nape of his neck, confirms the supposedly dreamed up images are real, Liam’s sitting next to him, fresh from a shower, hair still curly at the tips, beads of water cooling on the broad plane of his chest.

He’s probably already worked out, had orange juice and read the morning paper on his phone. Maybe even phoned him mum, talked through their schedule or something equally Liam-esque.

 

“Hey,” Zayn croaks out, voice still rough from sleep. “Where’s Niall?”

“Gone down for breakfast.” Liam smiles, brown orbs squinting, and suddenly the unforgiving morning light is beautiful, illuminating the tip of his nose and his lashes. Zayn’s rendered speechless for a moment.

“Rehearsals are on delay, by the way, couldn’t get a new sound-mechanic guy right away. Paul’s freaking out a bit.”

“Hmm.” Zayn tries to shrug in his lying position, he doesn’t mind, to be honest – it means that he can stay put in his bed right here, and maybe watch Liam for just a few moments longer. That, or the rest of the day.

 

 

He props himself up against the wall, hand automatically reaching out towards the bedside table, pack of cigarettes already opened.

“Zayn, I… just don’t?”

Zayn watches his own hand hovering mid-air, and then drops it. “Window’s already open.” He mumbles.

Liam looks like he’s going to give a lecture on how smoking ruins his lungs gradually, how his voice will go from smoky and soft to just craggy, how he wants Zayn to live a hundred years and a day… but instead, he just leans in. Zayn feels his heartbeat explode, and his hands immediately rise up to smooth over the droplets of wet on Liam’s shoulders.

 

“I just…” Liam seems lost for words, like he’s scrambling in his head to come up with an adequate excuse for kissing Zayn so randomly. They’ve done it before, sure enough, but mostly it was at the dead of night and involving a certain amount of alcohol or adrenaline. Zayn has to admit that he’s not exactly the most eloquent person on earth either, and so he contributes by letting his hands tangle in the soft, wet curls and pulls Liam down with a little yank.

 

He topples over Zayn, eyes all bright and hazel, hands already reaching and cupping his face, thumbs stroking over high cheek bones and lips pressing along a jawline.

Zayn can’t lie, this is probably one of the best moments of his life. He tries hard to categorize the feelings that rush through him, the frantic images of Liam’s sun-kissed forehead and the unstyled, tousled hair, slack lips passing him by like a slide show. He’ll be getting back to them for a wank, or for day dreaming, perhaps. He can’t even finish the thought of what a pathetic sod he is, because hands are already roaming and pushing up the hem of his old, worn T-shirt.

 

Zayn sits up, using one swift motion to whip off the fabric, and lays back down, lifting up his hips to tug off the sweatpants he wore for bed. Liam’s toying with the elastic of the underwear, eyes scanning Zayn up and down, like he’s not sure where to start. Then, after what felt like a breathless eternity, he leans down and places a feather-light kiss on the very center of Zayn’s chest.

 

And that soft, lingering touch – it just sends off everything.

 

Suddenly there are a lot of frantic movements and gasps, Liam scrambling to get out of his fresh clothes, Zayn helping him while trying to rid of his Calvin Klein’s. His chest is filled with something he can’t quite name, but it’s threatening to spill out any second now, so he just pulls Liam closer, crashing their lips together with a desperation that make his cheeks heat up, but Liam’s reciprocating, hand already cradled between Zayn’s legs, stroking, almost pulling.

 

“Liam, I, uh…” Maybe it’s humiliating how much he wants this: Liam hasn’t even been in the room for twenty minutes, and he’s already rock hard and ready, ready to be, uhm. “Just, please? Inside me.”

Liam’s eyes are sort of growing wider, and his hand drops a little, nudges Zayn’s legs open a little more and presses against the tight little pucker. “You… you really are…” he says, half groaning.

Really are what? Zayn thinks while bucking up his hips involuntarily, a man-whore? A slut for Liam’s cock? Well, as unmanly as it may sound, but he sort of was. Private time under the shower with his right hand was usually accompanied by vivid images of their last drunken encounter: Liam slamming him against something, Liam sucking at his neck while pacing his thrusts, Liam looking down on him with lidded eyes, cheeks flushed and mouth slack.

 

Zayn gives a small moan that already sounds too needy in his ears. Liam adds another finger, working slow and steady, in and out, in and out. He really hopes that the door is locked in case Niall wants to come back in, with Harry or Louis in tow, and they’d all stop dead in their tracks because Zayn has his legs parted and is being spread open, ready to be fucked, or something along those lines. His worries are washed away when the fingers leave him and an unpleasant emptiness takes over. Liam was quick today, apparently eager to commence as well.

 

“Is this, uh, fine with you?”

Liam actually takes the time to look awkward and concerned and really bloody adorable. Zayn draws a quick breath: “I, I really want you inside me…” 

He considers carrying on but then decides that he can’t really trust his mouth. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to hold his tongue with all the pleasure muzzling his mind and tell Liam that he really thought about him more than what was considered appropriate, and that he loved the way he tilted his head while listening, or other mushy, gay stuff.

 

Then he feels Liam pushing in and yeah, he is probably the last person on this planet to judge anyone on being gay. He spreads his legs further apart, almost obscenely wide and allows Liam to seize hold of the back of his thighs, letting his own hands claw at the sheets.

“Holy fuck, fuck, fuck…” Liam chants while pressing on, eyes lowered and fixed on his own cock stretching Zayn wide. Then, all of a sudden, he just pushes in with one, hard thrust, and sets a rhythm that has Zayn panting and hitching moans.

 

“Liam, oh fuck, Liam, Liamliamliam,” Zayn decides that he needs something to hold on and, because his head is seriously spinning, so he wraps his arms around Liam’s neck, pulling him down, teeth scratching against the newly shaven jaw. He lets out a scream when Liam changes the angle slightly and literally hits his prostate with a sharp jab, and then, really, it isn’t too much of a surprise, he comes with such a force that the edges of his vision whiten temporarily.

 

It probably takes him some time to regain his senses, because when he starts seeing clearly again, Liam is peppering his nose with small kisses, so incredibly loving it’s almost surreal. And… and he is still hard, rigid inside of Zayn, and he doesn’t even want to think about how much effort it must be taking him to just remain still like that.

“Oh, Li.” Zayn hears himself sigh, like the big girl that he is: “fuck me already.”

 

 

And Liam does. After the frantic thrusts and the breathlessness, he’s suddenly slow, if not loving. Zayn feels like he’s imploding gently, the grinding friction seems to be spreading everywhere, he can feel it from the tip of his knuckles, that are white from holding on to Liam’s shoulders, to the soft skin on the inside of his knee.

And, he thinks to himself while gazing up at the fuzzy image of Liam’s sweaty, focused expression, this really shouldn’t we called sex anymore. It was something way, way beyond that.

 

It’s like he’s lost all control over his body, but very, very consciously so.

 

Zayn arches up, lifts his hips experimentally, and gasps when Liam stops dead in his tracks while pressing in so deep it hurts a little, but in a good way. “Do… do that again?” Liam sounds like he’s run a mile just now, and his eyes are trained on Zayn like his life depended on it. “Just. The thing.”

Zayn tries hard to focus for a few seconds and then presses up again, eyes screwed shut with the effort of not letting any sound go. He can feel himself clenching automatically, and Liam just sort of loses it, really. They both aren’t prepared for the suddenness of their movements and for a split second Zayn feels a burning in the pit of his stomach. When he regains his senses, he’s being held down with a rather brute force and pounded into like… well, he hasn’t really got a comparison for that one.

 

His ankles cross around Liam’s waist and he suddenly realizes that he’s pretty much screaming, sounding oddly strangled, words tumbling randomly out of his mouth. It mostly consists of Liam’s Name and encouragements to fuck him harder, or some such. He can’t decide whether he should be embarrassed or delighted or if his brain should be working at all, at this stage – then he’s coming. Again.

And it feels raw, he’s too sensitive and it’s pretty much heaven.

 

The world just turns blank for a moment, and everything spins, except there is no direction to spin to.

 

“…you okay?”

Zayn blinks, and for a moment he isn’t even sure whether anything’s happened at all, maybe he just woke up and dreamed up the whole incident, what with Liam’s eyes so unnaturally bright and the friction between their thighs feeling like electricity. “Fuck.” He croaks out and, yeah, maybe that sums up his current state pretty well. Liam’s still above him, looking like a glistening young god or something equally unnerving, a line of worry between his brows.

Zayn relaxes a little bit, stops his scrambled brain from forming any more thoughts and just focusses on how his body feels. 

 

Sore, he decides first. Really, really sore. But then there’s a glow inside him that is very much unexplainable, but fuck yeah, it’s good. Then there’s also Liam’s cock, which is still hard and inside him. Zayn risks a quick look down, and then groans. Like, how is that even possible?

He only realizes that he spoke that last thought out loud when Liam is apologizing and pulling out.

“No, I, uh, no.” Zayn quickly jams his legs back in place and pushes Liam back inside him, the feeling makes him blush and huff a breath.

“I’m already hurting you.” Liam softly, but determinedly removes Zayn’s Hands that are clutching at him, and pulls out. “No, you’re really not.” Zayn locks his ankles and presses forward to get him back in.

Liam’s eyes glaze over a little, then he sighs, and it’s funny because it’s the same sigh he gives when he’s exasperated with Niall or unhappy with their progress, and relaxes, lying on top of Zayn completely. He’s pretty heavy, but Zayn likes the weight… it feels intimate. Like they’re never going to be this close to each other ever again.

“Fine,” Liam whispers. “Just, please tell me when it’s too much.”

 

Zayn nods, and he’s feeling a bit shaky.

 

Now that he’s regained his senses, he’s suddenly hyperaware of everything. How the bed creaks just a little. How Liam’s breathing is heavy and how his own moans are soft and hoarse.

“I, uh, heard you just then.” Liam supports himself on his elbows, their faces only inches apart. Zayn’s got his fingers tangled in his moist hair, and can’t help but smile a bit: “You, and the entire hotel.”

He doesn’t know why they’d started conversing, but it’s sort of nice. Liam catches his breath, hips still moving in a steady rhythm: “No, I meant… uh, you sort of said something while, while we were…”

Zayn can’t think of anything coherent he ever said, but it’s the first time he’s lost himself to this extend – he usually isn’t such a screamer. “Okay,” is all he manages, before Liam’s nudging his prostate again, very gently so.

 

It’s a weird end to their… activity.

 

Liam comes, and he’s all quiet and breathless, pressing his nose against the junction between Zayn’s shoulder and neck. They just lie there, tangled up together, and then Liam says: “Love you too.” And it’s mumbled and vague, but Zayn catches every Syllable.

 

He really doesn’t mind being woken up.

 

 

______________

 

“Please tell me this isn’t real.” Niall looks like he’s about to throw up his full English.

 

(“Liam. Liam. Liam. Oh, yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Fuck, fuck, oh fuck.”)

 

Harry leans back onto his cushions, tilting his head to get a better earful. “Didn’t know Zayn was such a screamer.” Louis only turns down the volume of the TV and smirks, throwing Harry a look that should be locked away for private time.

 

(“Fucking hell, Li. Oh God. God. Oh fuck, harder.”)

 

“C’mon guys! Not you too!” Niall turn towards his bag of crisps, looking disgusted with his band mates and the rest of the world.

“Did he just say, ‘harder’?” Louis strokes his chin pensively. “Don’t think Daddy Direction could get any harder.”

“They’ve been at it for twenty minutes now,” Harry casts a look at his phone. “yep. Very impressive.”

 

(“Oh. Yeah. Fuck, love you, Li. Oh, oh, fuck.”)

 

The three boys freeze. Niall red as a tomato, Louis blinking in surprise and Harry… well, Harry just snorts.

 

“Fucking Finally.”


End file.
